“I didn’t know no woman I could tell—nor no other decent man.”
It was the supreme compliment of his life—it was his justification. And how had he rewarded it....
Suddenly he felt her hand on his arm, and when he turned, she was looking away and before them. He followed her eyes and saw the white dome.
“It’s it,” she said, reverently.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s it, sure enough.”
They walked on, staring at it. All that could be in the heart of a people all the time was in their faces for the meaning of it.
In a little back street, ugly save for its abundant shade, they came to the home of Lory’s aunt. It was a chubby house, with bright eyes, and the possibilities, never developed, of a smile. There were a small, smothered yard, and an over-ripe fence, and the evidences of complete discouragement on the part of the house to distinguish itself from its neighbors, all made in the same mint.
A woman with an absorbed look answered the door; when she saw them, she slightly opened her mouth, but the absorbed look did not leave her eyes.
“For evermore,” she said. “It’s Lory Moor. And I ain’t a thing in the house to eat.”